Retrospection
by DazzledxInk
Summary: Bella is not a forgiving person. When the guy that had bullied her throughout high school suffers from amnesia, she convinces herself that underneath, he's the same bully he's always been. But Edward and Bella get a chance to start over when they learn to see each other for what they really are. Rated M for lemons


**[I realized long after I posted this chapter, that I posted the wrong document. There were some name changes and some little differences made so I've updated the chapter. Same gist, though :) ] **

I'm not the sort of person who knows how to keep my mouth shut.

I'm not sure if it's just that I don't know how to use a filter, or that my mouth doesn't come with one. Either way, it has landed me in the Principle's office. On the first day of school. I'm not proud. I fiddle with my phone, avoiding the look his secretary is giving me. She's a nice woman and with how often I'm in here, I'm grateful for that. She's always passing me little candies and complimenting my t-shirts. She's sweet. But she's looking at me now with the look I'm sure to also get back home. Which seems to say, "Seriously?"

Yeah. Seriously. I'm in the principles office. On the first day of school. Not to mention that the first day hasn't even technically started. I turn to look at where the clock is slowly ticking. There is still fourteen minutes until our first bell rings. It would be hard, explaining this to my grandparents. Oh god, would he call them?

"Ms. Swan?" Principle Anderson leans out of his office, his expression as flat as his voice. "Come on in,"

I lift my luggage off the floor and follow him. He's a grey-haired, stern man who has his office decorated with old theatrical posters. I consider theater to be an odd interest for a guy as serious as he is, but whatever does it for you, I guess. It's hard to find him intimidating with a polished suit, slicked back hair and a poster of Wicked behind his head.

"So," Anderson says, leaning back in his chair. "Starting the year off with a bang, huh?"

"Am I getting expelled?" I ask, because why flirt around the issue? And, this room sort of smells like Lysol spray and it's making my noise itch. I need fresh air. Even the foggy, wet air of Forks Washington will do.

"Is that what you want?"

I sigh. He always speaks in questions. Pet peeve number forty. "No, I just-"

"Did you think," He interrupts, leaning forward. "That cursing out a teacher wouldn't get you expelled?"

"I had high hopes that you developed an appreciation for acts of vengeance,"

"Vengeance?" He arcs a bushy eyebrow. "That's what this was?"

"Mrs. Summers is always h-"

He interrupts again. "I think, that you have an issue with how to handle your anger," He pushes a pink slip toward me, where DETENTION is written in bold, black letters at the top. "And I think you need guidance,"

Oh, good grief. This is were the speech would start. I wasn't sure why he bothered anymore. If I was asked to write his motivational teachings I could do it word-for-word and he knew that. Again, I'm not proud, I'm just saying...

I reach for the slip but he slaps his hand on top of it. "I think you want to be expelled, so that is not what I'm going to do. You are going to attend after school detention for two months,"

I think my eyebrows hit the ceiling. "Two months?"

"You practically live in my office," He says, moving his hand away from the paper. "And this is you're final year here and instead of taking the opportunity to start over, you end up in my office before classes have even started. I think you do this on purpose,"

"I don't ask to be-"

He interrupts again. I'm not sure that he knows how conversations work. "I want you to take an hour every day to think about whether acting up is really worth all the trouble. I've been cutting you a lot of slack since your mother passed," I look away. "And I'm sure that has a lot to do with your behavior. But I can't keep using the same excuse to overlook your delinquency,"

"I never asked for anyone to make any excuses for me," I say, throwing my hands up. "I'm just fine. I don't need to be coddled,"

"Wonderful," He says, leaning back into his chair. "Because this is your final chance to learn how to shape up, before you're never allowed in this school again,"

Promise? I think, but I don't say it out loud (surprisingly.) In my mind, to not have to come back to Waldorf academy would be a dream come true. But I know that to my grandparents it would be a failure. They had enough heartache ad disappointment in the last few years. We all had.

"Yeah. Okay," I snatch the slip and stand up from the seat.

"During today's assembly, I hope you focus on our videos and really pay attention to what an honor it is to be here,"

"I'll be all ears," I say.

"And Isabella," I turn toward him. "Change your shirt into something appropriate,"

I nod, shutting his door behind me.

I don't look at his secretary as I pass her but she says, "Chin up, kid,"

I smile at her, a small, half of my face sort of smile. She use to know my mom. This whole school knew my mom. She was everyone's favorite alumni. My mother and I looked like carbon copies of one another but we were complete opposites in personality. She was bright and happy and loved by anyone who laid eyes on her. I was...not as cherished.

I decide on my way to the cafeteria that I must have been born without a filter completely. A genetic defect, maybe because even though I never knew my father, I've been told I'm just like him. My mom said my father was a sarcastic, powerful, no-bullshit sort of man who would speak the truth even if it burned his tongue. I wish more people were like that, but nowadays if you speak the truth, you're a bitch, which is something I've been called a few too many times to count.

Mrs. Summer's hadn't exactly called me a bitch, but the implication was there. She called me a Vexation before sending me to the office, today. Vexation. What did that even mean? She spit it out behind tight lips like it was an insult, so I had no choice but to decide it was.

Stick with common terminology, lady. Who are you trying to impress?

Regardless of whether I was simply outspoken like my father or a...vex-whateveryoucallit, I had to figure out how to keep my tongue in check. Between the detentions and the groundings for my grades, my social life was creeping a little more toward extinction every year. Not to mention it was minuscule at best, anyways. I had three best friends (three friends, period) and I had barely seen them all summer. While they were traveling and seeing movies and chilling out, I was taking summer classes at a youth center for all of my failed grades. It's not that I'm stupid. I'm not. In fact, I'm actually pretty smart. Or, at least, I can be. There was a time when I succeeded at school and tests and spelling bees and all the other silly little things that parents care about. I was a "promising student" which I guess is exactly why my grandparents are so frustrated by me, now.

I had hit a downward spiral as steep as an overdraft charge.

Turns out, that there is a limit to the amount of time that you're allowed to grieve over the death of your parent, before you're expected to go back to normal.

I had apparently met that limit, but I still felt the ache of her loss like a stone in my belly. I can't imagine that it will ever go away.

The cafeteria is loud as I push my way through the students with my travel bag slug over my shoulder. I curse when I feel elbows press into my side. I did not miss this place in the slightest. How is it that in a school with so few students, you still had to fight your way through the hallways? Spread out, people!

At least the place was nice to look at. Waldorf looked more like a modern day castle than a school. I'm sure that it was partially the reason that my grandma picked this school of all the others she had researched. One look at the brochure's depiction of intricately designed pillars and antique lounge chairs had her sold.

It could be worse. All the other private boarding schools in our area has a dress code. Waldorf, thank the heavens, does not. I'm not wearing a skirt. Ever. I'm just not.

And those black stalkings...don't get me started.

"Yo, Swan," Jasper greets me casually from our usual spot; the small, round table we have eaten lunch since Freshman year when we awkwardly connected over cold spaghetti and Marvel comics. I smile at his messy blonde hair and the familiar way it falls over his eyes. There was a very short lived period of time when I had crushed on Jasper. That died abruptly when he came out of the closet. As it turns out, I have no gaydar.

He is sitting across from Alice, who grins back at me with dimpled cheeks. This would be the single thing about going back to school that did _not_ suck.

I missed my friends.

"Welcome back to the Waldorf morgue," Jasper makes a grand gesture.

"Yay," I dead pan.

I lean awkwardly over Alice with a one armed hug, and pound Jasper's fist with my own. That is all we need; our silly little greetings and then our friendship settles into that comfortable place it's always been. Like we hadn't been apart all summer.

"Want some?" Alice coos, waving her breakfast plate toward me. Her black hair is cut short in a pixie sort of style that only someone with her bone structure could pull off. I had such a round face that any thing shorter than my chin made me look like a man. I know this from attempting the cut in middle school.

I don't want to talk about it.

"That looks terrible," I answer, lowering myself in the spot beside her, my luggage bag settled at my feet.

"_You_ look terrible," Alice pulls back her breakfast and forks off another bite.

I ignore her.

"So I ran into Mrs. Summers," I say, tossing a pink slip onto the table.

"Detention? Already?" Jasper picks up the paper, "School hasn't even started yet,"

"Has for me," I mumble.

"Oh my god, Bella, really?" Alice snorts. "What did you do?"

I wave my hand. "Something that was blown out of proportion because she is out to get me,"

This is true, not a stereotypical complaint of a delinquent teen. Mrs. Summers hated me, which was just fine because I wasn't a big fan of her, myself.

"You used fowl language?" Jasper's eyes skim over the writing with mock surprise. "Say it isn't so!"

"Ha ha," I flip him off. "We got into a discussion about 'appropriate school attire',"

Jasper scoffs. "What's not to love about that shirt?"

I look down at it. It said, Bettie Trooper above a pin up picture of a storm trooper. It's boobs adorned with red tassels.

"I know,"

"So you cussed at her?," Jasper asks, and I snatch the paper from him.

"All I said was fuck," I roll my eyes. "And she told me that my language was vulgar and that I was a vexation to the academy,"

"A what?" Alice frowned, and I just shrugged.

"Well," Alice takes another bite of her food. "At least the summer hasn't changed you,"

"Drink to that!" Jasper raises his orange juice.

"Where's Rosalie?" I ask, looking around the crowded room as students hug and squeal over friends they hadn't seen in months.

"Trying to change board buddies," Jasper says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, no," I say. "Who did she get?"

Board buddies was the term our school used for the person you had to share a room with for the entire year. It was assigned at random, to promote diversity, but all it really did was create another reason to hate this place. It might be bearable, going to a boarding school, if you got to pick the person you lived with.

"Kristi Kidd," Jasper says, his lips puckered like he's trying not to laugh.

"Crusty Kristi?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Jasper has started calling her that Freshman year, after sitting behind her in french class. Apparently she wore so much hair spray, that when she moved her hair in any way, it made a strange crinkle noise like a plastic grocery bag.

This was Karma. Last year, I was paired with Amanda Guyott who spoke to imaginary people and collected beanie babies. Rosalie gave me so much hell for having to room with Amanda. Now she has queen bee to worry about. Crusty Kristi was all the things Rosalie hated in a person; cocky, popular, self-entitled and snobby. Her popularity stemmed completely on the fact that her family was filthy rich. Most of the students in this school came from wealthy families, even me. Swan was my last name, and the name of the most popular sailing club on the west coast. If you want to sail the bay, you have to rent or buy a boat from my grandfather. For that, he was obnoxiously rich. But Crusty came from a whole other level of wealth.

Like, swim in a pool full of hundred dollar bills, wealth.

"Sucks to be her," I shrug, feeling pleased that I wasn't boarded with someone I hated. Angela Weber was my board buddy this year. She was in my math class last year and all I could really remember was that she was super shy and never spoke.

Fine by me.

"I got Emmett McCarty," Jasper winks, resting his chin on both hands.

"Ohhhh," I lightly kick him under the table. "Score,"

"I just love that they don't account for the gays with board buddies," Alice says, her mouth full of food. "Like, boys and girls can't mix because then they might, you know, do it," Jasper laughs, "But what about the lesbos and the gays? They are free to get it on all night. Not fair."

"Puh-lease," Jasper rolls his eyes. "There are about 3 gays in this school and two of them don't even know they're gay,"

"Plus," I add. "It's not exactly like the segregation has stopped anyone," I give her a pointed look and she blushes. Alice use to be madly, disgustingly in love with a senior last year and spent almost every night sleeping in his dorm room. This school was oblivious.

_Attention Students_. The voice over the intercom is soft and friendly. The cafeteria quiets just a little as we all look up toward the speakers above our head_. Before classes today, there will be a mandatory assembly._

I cringe. We had a mandatory assembly on the first day of school every year, and it was always the same old thing. They would welcome freshman and go over our "core values" of perseverance, results, empathy and passion (and bull shit.) Then they would remind us how lucky we were to be here and blah blah blah.

_Please put away all belongings in your assigned dorm and head to the theater room when the first bell rings. Thank you for your cooperation. And as always, make it a great day, or not, the choice is yours._

Jasper mocks the last part, along with the everyone else in the cafeteria. It's the same line we hear every single morning after announcements. Every. Single. Morning. For three years. Sometimes I hear it in my dreams.

"I hate these things," I groan, laying my head down on my arms.

"Whatever cuts my first period short. I have calculus," Jasper says, poking my nose with a callused finger as gets up from the table. "See you ladies in a few. Gotta go greet my new bed buddy," He winks and disappears into a sea of people.

I split with Alice to find my new dorm. It looks like Angela has already been in and she has completely unpacked and decorated her side of the room. It looks like how I imagine any normal teenage girl (any other girl but me) would decorate her room; bright colors, music posters, and frilly lampshades. I shutter. The other side of the room is empty, so I toss my bags onto the bed. I brought nothing to decorate my space, apart from my galaxy bedspread. But that 's just a good luck charm and is in no way as obnoxious as polka dot wall stickers.

Once the bell rings, I follow the herd of students through the double doors of the theater room. It's a new addition to the building because Principle Anderson decided that we needed to support the arts. So the whole school blew thousands and thousands of dollars on a theater building. They had updated the seats during the summer, and they now look like the ones you'd find in old movie theaters. The stage is framed with black Merlin curtains and the hardwood floors are newly polished, shimmering under the stage lights.

Alice stands up, waving her thin arms above her head like she's signaling a plane. Rosalie is next to her, red faced and arms crossed. She's dyed her blonde hair with different streaks of vibrant colors; locks of pink are tucked behind her ears and long green spirals hang in her eyes. Her head looks like a rainbow but somehow she pulls it off. Rosalie could pull anything off. I, on my own, was completely irrelevant, but next to Rosalie, I was non existent. If she didn't hate the world as much as I did, she would be just as popular as Crusty Kristi.

I slide awkwardly between the seats until I plop down next to her

"Hey," I greet her but she just gives me a look that says she's not in the mood. I laugh. She hates this place as much as I do.

As the rest of the students file in, the lights dim slowly. I'm not sure where Jasper is. I search the room for him. You'd think it would be hard to miss a 6'3" gay guy, but he always blends into the background like magic. At the same moment the room darkens, the students start to cheer. I search, brows furrowed for whatever it is that has them cheering.

And then I see.

Edward Cullen. His usual mess of bronze hair is cut short, and he's following a couple guys toward the first row of seats.

I glare at him

In every school there is a popular student who can not so much as sneeze without the entire student body obsessing over the action. Edward, is that student. I never really understood the obsession. He really wasn't all that impressive. I have been at the same school as him for three years and I've never seen him do anything worth the attention. He plays lacrosse but he isn't a super star, he's smart but he doesn't win awards, and he's good looking, I suppose. But so what? In fact, Edward Cullen is a bully.

Ask any other student in this damn, preppy school and they would disagree. But speaking as someone who isn't blinded by his charm, Edward could be cruel. I saw it first hand on my very first day of freshman year. The first time I met Edward Cullen, he had a boy pinned up against a locker by the collar of his shirt. The boy was a bony, all limbs sort of kid and Edward rattled him against the metal with a flex of his muscled arms. There were people gathered around, laughing at the way the boy was sobbing in short, quick gasps.

"I ask a question when I want an answer," Edward had said, as I pushed through people to get closer. His lips were snarled, but more in humor than any real anger.

"Sorry," The boy gasped out, and his face was as red as my nail polish.

"See?" Edward drops him, patting his cheek in two, hard slaps. "That wasn't so hard,"

"What the fuck is your problem?" I asked over the sound of giggles and everyone turned to look at me. Even Edward. He looked me over, from my boots to the top of my head before he said, "Excuse me?"

I walked toward the boy, who was wiping tears from his face with the fabric of his shirt.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my hand reached out but Edward stepped quickly in front of me.

"He's fine,"

"Move,"

"Make me," He smirked at me. Smirked. And I had half the mind to throw a punch that would break that cocky grin in two.

"Oh, please. You're such a fucking cliche," I said, stepping around him to gather the other boy from the floor. That boy, I learned later, was Jasper. He's filled out and got much taller since then.

After that, I was the target. I don't think Edward knew my name until later that year, he strictly called me "the faggots girl". It was fun for him, thinking of cruel things to say to me. He'd watch the way that anger blossoms across my face like a slow burning fire and he'd smile that cocky little smile.

Even his friends got involved in the taunting because if Edward Cullen liked you, everyone liked you. And if Edward didn't like you...

Run for cover.

It would have probably ended a long time ago, but as I've said, I have a problem keeping my mouth shut...so I was always making it worse. They would trip me or prank me or somehow publicly humiliate me and I would say something sarcastic and snappy. They would laugh and I would stomp away and they would bully me again the next day. It was like a game and my anger was the prize.

I absolutely loathed Edward Cullen.

And even though Rosalie knows how much I hate him and how cruel he is and even though she is my _best_ friend, she is still in love with him. Just like everybody else.

"Yeah, but look at dat ass though," She'd joke, leaning around me to check him out. I'd hit her arm, grunt, roll my eyes or in someway showcase my disgust. But it didn't change anything.

"They cheer when he walks now?" I ask, sinking in my seat.

Rosalie gives me a strange look and Alice leans around her to gap at me. "You mean you didn't hear what happened?"

I frown. "What?"

"Jesus, Bella," Rosalie rolls her eyes. "It was all over the news,"

"What was?"

"Edward's..." Alice trails off, searching for the word. "Tragedy."

"The bad hair cut?" I nod. "I noticed,"

"Edward was in an accident a few weeks ago, and he was unconscious for a while." Alice says it in a way that makes me feel like a bitch. "He stayed at the hospital my mom works at,"

"I'm pretty sure you've been living under a rock," Rose says but I ignore her, my attention still on Alice.

_"Seriously?"_

My question is a hiss, as our principle steps out onto the stage, a gold watch glittering on his wrist. I never watch the news. And I don't hang out with people who hang out with Edward. Which, is exactly why I can only manage three friends.

"Let's quiet down!" Anderson says, the microphone clipped to his suit makes it voice loud and staticky.

Rosalie relaxes back into her seat, the soft glow of her phone illuminating her lap as she pulls it out of her pocket.

"Now, normally," He starts, pacing the center of the stage. "We gather to greet the new additions to our school and to clarify our code of conduct. But today we are going to do things a little differently.

"Thank you lord," Rosalie mocks praising Jesus with open palms.

"We _will _continue our standard assembly but there is a more important matter to address first," He holds his hand out, gesturing at the first row of seats. "Edward, will you stand?"

He doesn't right away, and his buddies are slapping his shoulder and people are clapping and his bronze head is just... sitting there. Then he slowly stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"For those of you who are not new to the academy, I'm sure you know Edward and for those of you who know him well, I'm sure you heard about the terrible accident he had this summer,"

The room is quiet, and I watch the back of his head. The fact that no one else is freaking out just shows me that I really _was _living under a rock this summer. I don't hang out with his crowd, but I'm still surprised I hadn't heard. He was so confident and self aware. It was hard to imagine him as a victim to anything.

"Would you like to step up and say a few words?" He asks, and I watch Edward's head shake. That's new; Edward Cullen not wanting to be the center of attention.

"Understood," Anderson starts pacing again and Edward lowers himself back into his seat. "Edward was in an accident a few weeks ago, and was left unconscious," Rose leans toward me to show me a picture of a cat in a sweater. I push the phone away. "After the hard work from doctors and faith from his family and friends, Edward woke up," The clapping echos around me as people cheer. My clap is soft and dishonest. I mean, I don't wish the kid dead or anything, but I'm not exactly wanting to celebrate his life either.

"But it's important to learn from this tragedy. It's important that we talk about drinking and driving, because if the other driver had been sober, Edward would have had a summer as normal as the rest of you,"

I snort. I'd seen Edward as drunk as could be, sneaking off campus with his friends in the dead of night. It looked like he was just fine. Maybe he should learn from his own mistakes.

"We are glad that this did not end as horribly as it could have, but he has still suffered greatly from this accident. The brain trauma he suffered caused Dissociative, general amnesia," The murmured gossip builds around me.

Amnesia? Holy shit.

I press my lips together, frowning at where Edward's bronze head sits slouched in the seat.

I know little to nothing about amnesia. I know that's the one where you have no memories, but that's as far as my knowledge goes.

"What does that mean?" I lean in to Rose and she shrugs.

"I want to be sure that we understand his situation because Edward has made the brave decision to come back to school today,"

The room claps and I clap softly with them because Rosalie elbows me.

Why the hell was he coming back to school?

"We want to support his brave decision to come back, by offering our hands to him. Show him the school. Introduce yourselves. Make him feel like he's back at home,"

Does this mean he won't remember me? There is a tiny, evil part that feels joy in the fact that he wont be strutting the halls with the same quiet confidence he uses to mock me. For a while, and I had no fucking clue how long that while would be, I won't have to avoid him. I would savor every second of that bliss.

I watch him again, where his head it turned down.

"It is our job as his classmates, his teachers, his friends and his family to pick Edward up from the misfortune and offer our strength to him. Today, Edward will be over whelmed and nervous. But soon enough, with our support, he will find his way back,"

I lean in toward Rose. "Shouldn't he be at a hospital or something?"

"My mom," Alice says, leaning into Rosalie to whisper to us. "Says that amnesia patients are told to just go back to their normal lives until the memories trigger. _If _they trigger. Isn't that crazy? I'd just never leave my room and hope for the best,"

Alice was always sharing her Psychologist mother's expert opinion on everything. Pet peeve number thirty two.

"Someone should tell him that we were dating before the accident," Rosalie whispers but I don't laugh.

I scanned the faces of my classmates in the dark, noticing the worried expressions and whispered questions. I wonder if any of them know a damn thing about amnesia or if they are just as clueless as me.

Anderson goes on to to tell us that it would be nice to help him find his way to class.

"Edward, take off your clothes and hop on my back," Rosalie whispers. "I'll piggy-back you to Spanish,"

"Ew," I say.

"I'm sure," Anderson says, "That Edward can answer any questions when and if he's ready. For now, we are happy to have you back, Champ,"

Then, it's over, and Anderson is showing a slide show of old photos of the school and talking about respect and dedication.

When the bell rings above us like a wind chime, everyone starts to hurry up from their seats, pushing toward where Cullen is sitting.

This whole freaking school would eat cereal out of his ass. Why would anyone feel sorry for him? He'll have all the support in the world...

Everybody loved Edward Cullen. He had nothing to worry about.

I sat, twelve rows up from the front, watching him try to pass people crowding him with goofy smiles. He looked anxious and annoyed.

Was I a terrible person for feeling relieved?


End file.
